


Pushing Daisies-The Consulting Detective

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pining, blowjob, handjob, pushing daisies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was simple. Sherlock could bring the dead back to life for one minute with a touch of his finger, any longer and another life would be taken. He used his powers for crime solving, developed his own job title, and kept his secret hidden well. The only kink in the system: One touch means life, the second touch means dead forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushing Daisies-The Consulting Detective

 

 

It was simple. Sherlock could bring the dead back to life for one minute with a touch of his finger , any longer and another life would be taken. He used his powers for crime solving, developed his own job title, and kept his secret hidden well. The only kink in the system: One touch means life, the second touch means dead forever.

The only people who knew were Greg Lestrade  and his brother, Mycroft Holmes.

Well, three people now. 

John Watson was different when he was touched back to life. Sherlock looked him well over before bringing the pad of his forefinger to the cheek of the man: recent army doctor, shot in shoulder in action, possible accident. 

It all happened so fast. The second that lifeless body jerked his eyes open, Sherlock couldn't deny his attraction.

There was a quick "Who are you?" Then, "I'm Sherlock Holmes." And the rest was obviously easy. Somebody in the hospital dropped dead, a nurse, she was a poor worker anyway. To keep the living dead's mysterious comeback a lowdown, Sherlock invited the doctor to live with him.

.

Simple. 

.

"Sherlock, slow down! He's too fast and we need a new plan!" John kept a good three feet between him and the taller man when Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. He was thinking.

"So?" John asked, waiting for their next move. The killer was an athlete, agile, and smart. It'd be hard to get him by foot alone.

With a gloved hand and a long sleeve, Sherlock smiled from his thought and came to clasp John's arm tightly, "We're going to do nothing. Genius, John!" 

John stammered backwards, away, and took a deep breath. "Are you an idiot! One wrong move and you could stop my heart! You do not think about these things as keenly as you should!" John tried to get through Sherlock's thick skull, "And we're doing nothing? Giving up! How does that make sense!" 

John kept his anger high until Sherlock finally turned around in the dark, lamp lit street, "Oh, I was nowhere near your skin. Also, I'm fairly certain our suspect enjoys the chase. If we put in the papers that police have stopped investigation, he'll go back to his apartment where he can be arrested."

It was, "Brilliant." John felt those words were on his mouth a lot lately. 

Sherlock smirked. "You too." He stopped worrying his thoughts to slow down and look at John. 

This, this always happened. Sherlock would look at John, really look at him. And John would look back.

Two idiots, staring at each other in the middle of an empty street. 

They knew, they knew the first day they got to know one another. It was love. 

.

That night, the problems of the inability to touch became real.

.

"Do you realize how amazing you are?" John asked with intention. Sherlock was sitting opposite him in his chair,

"No, not really. Not before... you." The tension of the sentence grew and by the end both men were looking at one another under their lashes. Like wolves hunting prey.

The wolf in John gave a great empathetic smile, oh, "I ask because before you, I was a wreck. Even before my death. PTSD is nowhere near me now, and I love you for it."

"You-" Sherlock looked at John squarely, shocked, "-love me?" The last word was whispered, he couldn't force it out. A credible man such as John said he loves him.

John shuffled forward in his chair, leaning in to whisper back, "I'd kiss you right now if it wouldn't kill me." 

Sherlock was engaged, and his mouth dropped and swiveled. The world was a cruel place. "Find a way. John Watson, find a way to kiss me." 

John shot up at those words. Sherlock was his commander now, and he was going to kiss him. He needed it, he needed something...

"Here." John dashed about in the kitchen and dug out a long thin box, producing plastic wrap. "Come here!" It was urgent. He had consent to kiss, and he was going to. He found a way.

Sherlock was at his side in an instant, hands wanting to touch but forcing themselves back. No touching, no touching, "No touching, John, careful." 

Unwrapping a good amount of the clear, thin material, John grinned, then closed his eyes.

It felt silly to hold the wrap to his face, and wait. But the moment he heard Sherlock's breathing kick in, and felt warmth through the plastic, it was worth everything. 

Lips, those were his lips. John thought he'd never experience this, experience a simple close mouthed kiss that both desperately needed. 

It was good. John needed more, and so did Sherlock. He was careful as to not do anything but lean his hips forward. The tent in his trousers brushed against Sherlock, and Sherlock groaned.

It was a scared, turned-on groan. He pulled back, and threw the wrap out of John's hands. Leaving them both hands up. "You're begging for a death wish, Mr. Watson."

"Then, we better figure this out, because I think we both need a good orgasm and a good nap after today." They weren't wooing words, but they were true. 

Sherlock made a face of 'stay there', and grabbed his gloves which resided by his discarded belstaff on the couch. He returned with a look of defiance, then dropped to his knees. 

"Sherlock, you... Oh my God, look at you." John grasped at the table beside him and leaned against it, knees weak.

Sherlock slid his gloves on hurriedly and worked at John's belt. "Hands on your head, doctor." When John complied and the zip was down, Sherlock paused and look back up at breathless John.

"What? What's wrong?" John's hands were clasped feebly over his head.

"Nothing's wrong, Captain.." He smoothed the gloved hand into the lining of John's pants, "I was just going to ask if you wanted my mouth." The eyes read 'condom' all over. 

Risky. Risky  Risky .

"God, yes. One second." John drove a hand into his back pocket and brought his wallet out, fishing out a condom. 

John closed his eyes as he handed it off, hands back on his head. He counted slowly to ten.

1...the sound of the condom wrapper being torn open...2...cool gloved hands jerking trousers down...3...4...5...pants pulled down...6...cool air...7..."Oh, oh god your hand."

8,9, and 10 went out the window. Sherlock pumped John's cock hurriedly as if it were his meaning in life. Then, the condom went on, rolled onto John's thick prick by a talented hand. The hand started stroking again.

Gently, letting a repeat sound of slickness fill out with their harsh breathing. 

John risked looking down just as Sherlock widened his heated mouth and darted his tongue to draw in his cock. Saliva coating the barrier. Sherlock took precaution in going deep and avoiding going near the condom's endpoint. He started bobbing and sucking despite it, pumping the meat he wouldn't reach.

"I, dear lord, I love you." John's hands were falling from his head and he re-positioned them to clasp behind his head. "Oh, god, yes." 

With his free hand, Sherlock skimmed behind John's balls to rub at his perineum. A methodical pressure proved to stimulate John further. He was close.

The slick sounds of Sherlock's hand and mouth on John's cock sped up, and without much warning, John stilled and filled out the end of the condom.

Sherlock leaned back on his heels, pumping John through it, giving one last shiver inducing lick onto the sensitive head.

"Jesus." John sighed, slumped his shoulders and looked down, hands still held behind his head. "I need to get me some gloves." He gestured to Sherlock's straining, clothed erection.

"No.." Sherlock couldn't focus, he just needed release, "No need, John. I'm fairly certain I will come in my pants with little effort."

John sighed an 'oh' and leaned down, "Lay down. There you go. On your back, right here. On the floor." 

Sherlock complied and watched John lazily. Watched his new lover dispose of the used condom and zip himself up to come kneel over him.

"Just close your eyes. Put your hands over your head." John waited for Sherlock to do just that with a flush face and open mouth, "Good boy." 

His hand came down to rub up and down against Sherlock's dark jeaned trousers. The bulge was exciting and jumping, a hard rock under friction-filled jeans. 

He began rubbing and outlining Sherlock's cock with his fingers, not teasing in the least bit with fast strokes. Sherlock strains his head back, coughs out a low grunt, and comes. John holds his hand tight over the erection until it stops twitching and begins softening.

.

Sherlock lays there in the aftermath. "You're still alive."

"I'm still alive." John agrees.

Sherlock sits up, hair sticking up, "Was that bad? What we just did?"

John looks away a moment, the question dissolves away, "The sex was good."

"Sex? Is that going to be your definition of sex? A fake handjob ?" Sherlock was trying to give John an 'out', but the doctor wasn't having it.

He stood, "No. Sherlock, stop it. Sex isn't defined by skin on skin contact, and penetration. When people talk about sex, they'll say, 'when a boy and girl love each other very much', but who's to say two boys can't have that same level of sex. And who's to say I didn't very much enjoy what happened just now?"

Sherlock tried to say something, but John interceded again, towering over the genius, "I love you! You know that, or knew that from the moment you touched my cheek. We'll find out the sex thing, the intimacy thing later. We will. It will work because we need it to."

Sherlock pulls off the soiled gloves and stands, slowly growing taller than John. "I'm scared."

John saw Sherlock's declaration and dropped his head, "Fuck. Me too, alright? But it will be okay."

Closing in on John, Sherlock stood over him, hands behind his back. "John, if you think you are the first person I've touched back to life and left alive, then you are wrong. But you are right to assume that person doesn't exist anymore. They died, we got into a fight, and I touched them. That's why I'm scared."

News with Sherlock always hit John a different way. There was someone else. Curiosity ran high, "Who was it? Was it another case?"

"No!" Sherlock said, justifying that he doesn't just go from corpse to corpse hoping he'll make friends, "No, I was younger. He was Trevor, Victor Trevor, and I loved him. But I love you more, here, right now, and I can't lose you." 

Sherlock was talking low, breathily. 

John ran a hand over his face. "You won't lose me. Okay? I'll make sure we stay safe. Promise. Now how about you get into the shower and get fresh clothes on?"

"Yeah. That." Sherlock smiled over his shoulder as he left the kitchen and into the hall.

"Bugger." John smiled back.


End file.
